


The Realm Eternal

by shulamithbond



Series: Reality X [11]
Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abandonment, Autism, Childhood Trauma, Disabled Character, Disabled Character of Color, F/M, Gender Issues, Genderqueer Character, Mary Sue, Other, Prejudice, Psychological Trauma, Queer Themes, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:56:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shulamithbond/pseuds/shulamithbond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor decides to take his new spouse, his brother's new lover, and his young (adopted) daughter back to Asgard to meet the court and the Royal Family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_The wall rose up before her._

_And again, she was alone. Separated by miles of solid walls of rock – no, ice – from her home. Her family. Her parents and anyone she’d ever loved._

_They were gone – they had left her – and she had no idea why._

_She didn’t even know where she was. Let alone where they were._

_They couldn’t hear her. Couldn’t see her. Maybe they had forgotten all about her._

_And the chill seeped deep into her bones._

 

* * *

 

        Aoife awoke to the sounds of an argument.

        “The time has come, brother,” Thor was insisting from where he stood over the stove, box of Pop Tarts in hand, cooking several pans of scrambled eggs with ham and cheese for himself and everyone else. Just smelling it, Aoife’s mouth watered so hard that it almost ached as she eased herself down into a kitchen chair, stiff morning knees cracking audibly in protest.

        _“’The time has come,’_ ” Loki sneered angrily. “It’s scarcely been any time at all there since your wedding. Half the Aesir still see Crys as a usurper. As well as who knows how many in the Royal Court. And they’ve never even met Hela.”

        “Is that your worry, brother? But little Hel is…well, all adore her.” Thor chuckled. “As well they should.”

        _It’s true_ , Aoife interjected. _Even Freddy does, I think. In his way._

        Both brothers looked surprised and slightly apologetic that they hadn’t heard Aoife enter. In fact, Aoife didn’t mind; she found she sometimes took a strange joy in being an unseen observer.

        Finally, after greeting her with a kiss and a glass of orange juice, Loki turned back to his brother. “Everyone _here_ loves Hel. And yes, so do your Avengers. But that is because they, like the denizens here, are at least somewhat accustomed to difference. Diversity. Oddity, even. Hel’s species and appearance do not bother them greatly for that reason, and they can ignore them and enjoy her personality. The Aesir are not like that, brother.”

        “Loki, there are many Aesir who”-

       “Not as many as you believe,” Loki snapped. “Besides, what does a blond, blue-eyed, _skǫruligr_ prince know of it?”

       Aoife found herself frowning at the unfamiliar word, apparently Asgardian. _Skǫruligr?_ she asked aloud.

       “’Manly,’” Loki explained, a tad impatiently. “Masculine. Fully cismale, I suppose I meant.”

       _Ah_. Aoife nodded. _Then Loki’s right, Thor. It’s easy to see people as tolerant and accepting when you aren’t a member of the group they’re supposed to be tolerating…that’s a general “you,” of course, not a you you._

        “And furthermore,” Loki continued, emboldened by his small victory, “Who goes? If your intent is to bring Hel, she won’t go without Aoife. In case you haven’t noticed, they’ve been inseparable since…since she got back. And Aoife isn’t nearly strong enough to travel yet.”

        Aoife felt her gut twist in sudden anger. She herself had been toying with the idea of going somewhere with her fellow “Hela-parents,” as Loki had dubbed them (and Freddy if he wanted to come), although admittedly she had been thinking something more relaxing and low-key, like House Palpatine’s old lodge on Naboo. A side effect of her increased anxiety and PTSD seemed to be an exacerbation of the restlessness she’d always felt deep in her being, like a nervous itch; even though physically she still felt weak, she was ready for a change of scenery. Any change would do. In fact she was going stir-crazy here.

       Besides, how dare he speak for her? As if she wasn’t even there – or as if she couldn’t speak for herself!

       _On second thought,_ she remarked coolly, _Asgard might be a nice place to visit. I’ve been wanting to go on a journey somewhere lately anyway._

       “But Aoife”- Loki began.

       _We’ll be with Hela the whole time, Loki. We’ll make sure no one is nasty to her. Besides, as far as they’re concerned, she’s a Thordottir,_ Aoife reassured him. _But we shouldn’t decide anything until we talk to Crys, anyway._ She wasn’t concerned about this part of the process, however. In her bones, she knew that Crys would agree, if only because she felt that she had to for Thor’s sake.


	2. Chapter 2

        Their first obstacle – a minor obstacle, but an obstacle nonetheless – came when it was time to travel on the Bifrost. Namely, that Hela didn’t want to.

        She’d started the trip happy enough. On the car ride up to the Place she had been content – if still a little yawn-y and fussy due to the earliness of the hour – to sit in the back between Loki and Aoife (who had taken to sitting in the back with Hela whenever she could, so that Hela would actually sit back in her seat rather than hanging on Aoife’s backrest the entire ride), reading her favorite books and pointing out the window at places they passed – for instance the turnoffs to the Lonely’s driveway, to the McAshtons’ front drive and yard, to the path that led up to the Shack – which she recognized.

        Now, Aoife felt a stab of frustration with Thor. _Didn’t you explain to her that we were using the Bifrost?_ she demanded, not bothering to keep the snappishness out of her own tone. It was too early for diplomacy.

        “Of course I told her,” Thor protested, with all the indignation of one who’s not actually sure that he did. “I am certain I did. In fact, I distinctly remember it.” He grinned down at Hela. “A big girl like you cannot be _afraid_ – are you, _min kjaere_?” Hela only shook her head and hugged Aoife’s waist so hard that Aoife actually felt herself sway and felt her knees nearly buckle under the impact.

        “Come now, _kjaereling_ ,” Loki added with what for him must have been an exhausting display of cheer, especially so early in the day. “The Bifrost is really very great fun. I remember – it’s like one of the rides we go on at the fairs; very exciting. But not dangerous at all.”

       Crys bent down toward the girl. “Hel? Nipster? Why don’t you want to ride on the Bifrost, baby?”

       Hela detached from Aoife gradually, but stood for a while looking down at her new pair of purple Mary-Janes, purchased for the trip, amid the bedrock and gravelly soil, as the sky lightened slowly over the burial mounds. Finally, she whispered, “Is the Bifrost like the Tesseract?”

       No one spoke, mostly thanks to the question’s seeming complete randomness. At last, Loki replied. “A bit. I suppose…in a way. But they certainly aren’t the same. Why do you ask, Nip?”

       Hela slumped even lower. “Because when…the man came and took Mama away, he…he came on the Tesseract, didn’t he?”

       The silence deepened.

       Aoife found words first. _Yes, Hel, he did. But he’s…gone now, remember? And your father is right, the Bifrost and the Tesseract are different. We aren’t going to meet anyone...anyone like him by taking the Bifrost._

       “And do you know why, _kjaereling_?” added Loki, recovering from the mention of “the man” and getting back into the swing of the conversation.

       Hela cocked her head up at him, reminding them of a fresh-hatched bird. Their bird. “Why?”

       “Well, because the Bifrost is protected, of course.” Loki smiled. “By a man named Heimdall. He makes certain that the Bifrost is safe for all who travel upon it.”

       _“Heimdall!”_ Thor exclaimed, sounding a little relieved. “Yes, brother, of course. That is true, Hel, Heimdall keeps the Bifrost safe. He sees everything.”

       The girl’s eyes – the garnet-red one and its icy-blue partner – grew round. “How? Is he Jesus?” she turned to Crys. “Mom, at Sunday school they told us that Jesus can see everything. Is he Heimdall?”

       Crys laughed. “No, Nipster, they’re different people. Jesus can see everything because He’s God. Heimdall can see everything because of his magic.” Aoife breathed a sigh of relief that Crys, the Christian and the one with nearly an actual theological degree, could explain this so easily. She’d barely been able to keep from bursting out laughing at the sheer novelty of the question.

       Hela frowned. “But what's the difference? Can’t they both see everything anyway”-

       “You will understand better when you are older,” Loki said in tones of finality. “But you aren’t afraid of the Bifrost anymore, are you?”

       Hela bent down momentarily, and Aoife watched her almost absent-mindedly snatch a small purple flower growing by a rock and put it in her pocket. “No…I guess not. Papa, can we meet Heimdall when we go on it?”

       “Perhaps when we get there, if we have time and if he isn’t busy,” Loki told her, taking her hand in one of his and grabbing one of the suitcases with the other. “Thor, take her other hand,” he added authoritatively, as they began to sense the approach of the beam.

 

* * *

 

       Heimdall nodded at them as they arrived. “Hail, Princes. And Princess-Consort,” he added to Crys. “And Lady Aoife…” He looked down. “And…Princess Hela.”

       Hela started and whispered to Aoife, “He knows my name!”

       Aoife couldn’t help but laugh. _He sees everything, Nip. He’s seen you._

       “He called me a princess!”

       _Well, Daddy Thor and Daddy Loki are princes here, so that makes you a princess. Just like when we’re staying on Coruscant or Naboo with Grandma._

       Wordlessly, Hela approached Heimdall and held something up to him. Aoife saw that it was the purple flower the girl had picked before they left. Loki picked and dried a lot of those flowers, she recalled, and Angrboda often harvested them when she came to visit them. Never much of a potion-brewer herself, Aoife didn't know much about the purple flowers, which seemed only to grow in the Dead Zone. They had strong, herb-smelling roots, and according to Loki, you could make tea, salve, or incense with them.

        And as they walked away, Aoife remembered looking back at Heimdall and watching him tuck the flower into a chink in his armor.


	3. Chapter 3

         The afternoon had been a blur. Aoife could only remember her first breathtaking view of the golden spires, looking almost like the Emerald City all those years ago, but gilt, ancient, and infinitely more impressive. She’d tried mentally comparing Asgard to Coruscant, but you couldn’t. Asgard might have been slightly smaller as a city, but it was infinitely more polished, regal, and _alive,_ with visible features of nature – rocks, plants, waterfalls – still holding their own within the urban space. It was more like Naboo than anywhere else, only bigger, and more powerful. _Beautiful._

        The social justice-minded cynic within Aoife wondered where they kept their poor. She remembered reading articles about the Earth events known as the Olympics. In the cities where these games were held, she knew, areas were frequently swept for their homeless populations, who were then forcibly ejected from whatever shelter they had managed to find. On her own home planet, she knew that in the past, it was standard procedure for peacekeeping troopers to bar impoverished beings from leaving the city’s lower levels without a stated purpose, such as a job. Did Asgard keep its destitute population similarly hidden from visitors?

        But perhaps Asgard had no poor. Perhaps its government and economy were such that homelessness or outright poverty did not exist. It was always possible. _Possible, but unlikely._

        Aoife found herself dissociating throughout most of the crowds and stress of the arrival proper. She had vague memories of Loki and Crys guiding her and Hel (who clutched Aoife’s hand like a vise) through the city streets, down a narrow path through the crush of Aesir straining to catch a glimpse of their returning prince. Thor was too far ahead for Aoife to hear clearly, but to her mild surprise, she could see him stop and talk to people who smelled worried or even fearful in the Force.

        _Loki? Crys?_ she spoke up dimly. _What’s he doing?_

        “Listening to their problems,” Crys confirmed, pride in her voice. “He’s going to tell them to Odin later on, when there’s time.”

       Aoife considered this. She was fully prepared to carry the same grudge against Odin for Loki’s sake that Freddy, and later Loki as well, had carried on her behalf against her grandfather, prior to their reconciliation. But perhaps she would find that she had misjudged the Allfather. Perhaps he and Loki could still come to some sort of understanding on this trip. She hoped so.

 

* * *

 

       Still, she wasn’t overly impressed by the Allfather when they were ushered in to meet him. She’d expected the gawking court, the stares and whispers at Loki’s longish, elegantly pulled-back hair and fresh coat of glossy black nail polish, as well as her own tired, awkward gait, and Hel’s Chüd-scarring down her left half.

        What she didn’t expect was for the Allfather to say barely a few sentences to Loki, who, for his part, gave an appropriately respectful but terse response. She didn’t expect to be _ignored_ ; at one point the Allfather asked Loki and Thor who she was, as if she couldn’t be expected to explain for herself. She knew better than to publicly object, but she had to actively control her rage to keep it from destroying any small objects in the vicinity. As it was, one wall sconce behind them did crack.

        And she didn’t expect his flash of…she didn’t even know _what_ it was – when he looked at Hel.

        He masked it well, and when he spoke to Thor about her, it appeared to be with the gentle tones you would expect someone to use when speaking of a child. But Aoife knew what she had perceived. It had tasted like a combination of fear...and hatred. It had _burned_ , like accidentally brushing up against a hot pipe.

       If that was how Odin felt about their daughter, it was going to take a hell of a lot for her to trust him.


	4. Chapter 4

       “Come and look, Nipster,” Crys called, beckoning Hel over to the trunk. The three of them were gathered in Crys’ room. “Want to see all the stuff Grandma Frigga gave me when Daddy Thor and I got married?”

       Hel had been observing the room stoically, but Aoife could sense her unease. “Mom? Why don’t you and Dad have the same room like you do back home?”

       “It’s just how they do it here.” Crys shrugged. “Anyway, if Daddy Thor or I get lonely, there’s a secret door between our two bedrooms, so he can visit me.”

       Hel sat down on the floor next to Aoife’s chair, eyes downcast – or maybe she was just tired. “Mama?” she asked Aoife.

       _Yes, baby?_

       “Grandpa Odin doesn’t like me, does he?”

       Aoife started. Had she said something? No, no, she hadn’t. She would never reference something like that if there was any chance Hel could hear, and anyway she hadn’t told _anyone_ yet; she hadn’t wanted to worry them. Now, she was torn – she had never believed in lying to children. Her mother had been gently honest with her and with Wallis, and Aoife herself had willingly explained where babies came from (human babies, anyway, and as much of those of Hel's species as Aoife knew) when Hel asked once in the bath, to Loki’s sputtering indignation and Thor’s wordless embarrassment, reasoning that the girl wouldn’t actually care about the information until puberty. _What makes you think that?_ she asked carefully.

       Hel thought about it, and then dropped her gaze again. “Because…um, sometimes, I can tell what people are thinking. Like you with the Force, Mama, only it’s…different. Not all the time. Not, like, in words. Just sometimes.”

        _Is that normal for her species?_ Aoife didn’t know. She wished, once again, that she’d taken the time to learn more about Bob’s race when he was still alive.

        It was the least she could have done, considering.

        “I bet he liked you fine,” Crys answered for her, thankfully. “Maybe you were just feeling nervous and you got confused, Nip. Now come on, look. I got some really cool stuff.”

        The three of them huddled around the elaborately-carved hope chest, and Crys brought out the jewels first – a silver armband, torque, and brooch, and then the elaborate silver-filigree bridal crown. While Hela tried on the armband, torque, and crown, Crys carefully lifted out a white tunic and leggings trimmed in silver. “Grandma Frigga gave me these along with the jewelry when I first visited with Thor right after the wedding. She sewed them herself, and supervised the crafting of all the jewelry, and I got to wear it all for the whole court.”

        Hela was already reaching back into the chest. “Mom, there’s a dress in here, too.”

        Aoife leaned forward so far she felt momentarily unbalanced on the tip of her chair. _Crys, is that yours?_

        For the first time, Crys’ smile shrank slightly. “It was just an extra thing she made. Sort of a…miscommunication. No big.”

        _Of course_ , Aoife said carefully, Force-lifting the silvery-white, finely-embroidered gown gently from the trunk and holding it up in the air before them. _And it’s so beautiful._

        Hela’s brow knit. “But Mom, you don’t ever wear dresses.”

        “Well, Grandma Frigga didn’t know that. It was a nice gesture, guys.”

        _I’m sure it was, Crys. No one is saying it wasn’t,_ Aoife reassured her.

        “Where did you wear it, Mom?” asked Hela.

        Crys looked for a moment as if she wasn’t going to reply at all. Then, she said, “We went out to…to present ourselves to the people, you know? Not the court, the actual people. We stood on a balcony and then rode around a little in a carriage-type-thing. I wore it then…we thought it might be best. So people wouldn’t freak out.”

        _And who is ‘we’ exactly?_ Aoife wondered, taking care not to project the thought aloud. It wasn't her place to police Crys' gender presentation; that was Crys' choice. Besides, Crys already looked guarded enough, and Hela seemed troubled. The little girl could sense the inherent problems in the discovery, even if she didn’t have the words to express it yet.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for cissexism from the Aesir.

        Aoife opened her eyes, and her first thought of the day was, _No. Just…no._

       The bed in the room where she had been placed (in the guest wing, but Loki had come to her last night, and to be honest Aoife didn’t mind having her own room and her own bed for the majority of the night) was extremely comfortable with no textural issues whatsoever. The room was beautiful; its temperature perfect. Outside it was a little bright, but otherwise beautiful. There were no dark premonitions in the Force, at least not aside from the vague sense of ill-defined ominousness she’d been feeling since their arrival, and which she was willing to believe was just her imagination.

        But, of course, none of that mattered. It never had.

        Normally – if they were back home – this would be a day for staying in her and Loki’s room, or maybe the Quiet Room at Freddy’s (not for sexual reasons) – because those were her spaces, places where she could relax. She wouldn’t be hugely social. She would write, maybe reread favorite books. Basically, there was nothing to do but wait for it to subside. Aoife had always considered herself lucky that, for her, it usually did subside relatively quickly.

        But that was at home.

        There was a knock at the door; Aoife felt herself flinch, hard. _Oh, gods_. This would be a long day. She felt the cold, queasy chasm open up in her core, and took a deep breath, imagining the fresh air filling the hole before it could start to gnaw at her.

        _Yes? Come in_ , she called out, as cheerfully as she could. She had no idea if she sounded happy or not. All she knew was that some poor maidservant didn’t need to bear the brunt of her mood issues.

        Sure enough, the ~~intruder~~ visitor was a petite (by Asgardian standards; she was still a good few centimeters taller than Aoife), sandy-haired girl in a simple, slightly faded blue gown that looked as if it could be a sort of uniform. She carried a tray. “I’m sorry to have woken you, milady. I have your breakfast, when you’re ready for it. Prince Loki left instructions that you be left to sleep.”

        Aoife forced a smile. _Oh, that’s all right. Thank you. You can just set it down there on the table_. She had known, deep down, that this place wouldn’t simply leave her alone to wait it out. It wasn’t even really their fault – one of the troublesome aspects of the host-guest relationship was that even though the guest was supposed to have theoretical privileges to mostly do what they liked, they could not simply decide to avoid the host for a day or so, or even ask for this. Among neurotypicals, that simply wasn’t done.

        And the Aesir had no concept of neurodivergence, except perhaps for a few cases of radical psychosis or “low-functioning” developmental or intellectual difference that would be impossible even for their culture to erase. What did they do with those people? Aoife wasn’t sure she wanted to know. _Be quiet_ , she told the thought patterns that she could already feel gearing up to start calling her a coward.

        “The All-Mother wishes to invite you and your daughter to the spinning room when you are ready. She spends most of the day there.” Aoife nodded absently; the serving-girl was almost out the door again when it occurred to her to ask.

        _Excuse me_ , she said, catching the girl. _Do you happen to know where my daughter is now?_

         “With Prince Loki, milady. The last I saw, at least.”

        _Could you please find him and ask him to bring Hela down to the spinning room in about two hours or so?_

        “Of course, milady.”

       Aoife forced another smile. _Thanks; that’s helpful._

       “Will that be all, milady?”

        _Yes, thank you_. The girl left, and Aoife sat up in bed for a few more minutes staring at her knees, before she finally blinked back a couple tears of frustrated dread, and forced herself out of bed to start her morning stretches. 

 

* * *

 

        And now, exhausted from her stretches and exercises and from washing and dressing and doing all the little things she needed to do to feel halfway presentable to civilized society, let alone the Asgardian court, Aoife was walking into the spinning room.

        She hated how insecure she felt – of course, a part of that was her spirits today, but a part of it was also the Aesir. Angrboda was right – their very manner did things to the mind. They had been hearing for hundreds of years from humans that they were gods; even before that, they had ruled the Nine Realms for centuries at least with only one real threat to their supremacy _(who I killed – what does that make me to them?)._ They were like the Neofeudal vampires had been, only worse – they knew (or thought they knew) – that they were _above_ you. They were kind about it, and they might like you anyway, but they knew it, and so did you.

        How might it feel to go through life insulated by such unassailable privilege? And how might it feel – she thought of Loki – to suddenly lose it?

         _You don’t like them._

       _No, I don’t,_ she replied to herself. _Not only because of Loki and Angrboda…and Crys now, too. I don’t feel comfortable around people – groups – whole societies – built on that kind of mindset._

       _So what would you consider the Sith Order, then?_

        _We’re not like that. Deep down, any one of us who has any self-awareness at all knows that all our attitude is just blustering. We don’t really believe it, not the way these people do._

 

* * *

 

 

        The room was long, but low-ceilinged and bright, illuminated via clerestory windows and skylights with sun. It felt oddly like a kitchen, with small bundles of scented herbs hanging from support beams and a small hearth at one end with a large kettle boiling over it. It was filled with the sound of dozens of spinning wheels whirring busily, and in fact the room was filled with spinning wheels, as far as the eye could see. _Well, I suspected this was why it was called the ‘spinning room,’ but I suppose now I know for sure._

        “Lady Aoife!” the cheerful voice boomed out over the hum of the wheels. Aoife winced automatically and turned. In a somewhat more secluded corner sat Queen Frigga, and beside her an enormous woman who reminded Aoife of no one so much as her Master, Darth Bane, and who – Aoife suspected – had been the caller. The woman was tall, broad-shouldered, stocky, and muscular, with an uneven halo of gently graying dark, wiry hair. Whereas Darth Bane radiated a sort of white-hot, live wire energy, though, this woman was almost a female Thor. Today, she wore a functional brown leather apron over a heather-colored shift, but Aoife got the impression that she was unused to skirts.

        Sitting on a lower chair by their feet, she could see Hela, engrossed in trying to make a yarn doll. A finished one sat beside her, leaning against a beam. Aoife wondered whether Hela had made it, but, owing to its near-flawlessness, decided it was probably a prototype, made by Frigga, or the warrior-woman, for the girl to work from.

        She drew up to the smaller spinning circle and bowed. _Good afternoon, Your Highness…and to you, ma’am,_ she added to the larger woman. _Hi, Hel._

        Hela looked up briefly from her task. “Hi, Mama.” She seemed troubled; frustrated, maybe.

        “There’s no need for such formality,” Frigga corrected, gently. “Especially not here. ‘Frigga’ will be perfectly fine. And this is Brunnhilde,” she added, introducing the great woman. “The leader of my Valkyries, and my bodyguard.” She smiled up at Brunnhilde. “And my oldest friend, I believe.”

         A _fighting_ Aesir woman – especially one who (unlike Lady Sif) wasn’t practically a sworn enemy of Crys for “stealing” from her the man for whom she secretly pined. Aoife felt that deserved a smile. She was feeling just a centimeter or so better, anyway. There was something soothing, almost womblike, about the spinning room. _Pleased to meet you, Brunnhilde_.

        “And you, young Aoife.” Aoife decided she had been wrong; Brunnhilde was not like Thor. There was the same sincerity, the same nobility and simple sense of duty…but there was also something nuanced, something jaded and even dark that Brunnhilde tried to keep out of sight. _She’s very old. Of course, all the Aesir are old. But I think she’s even older_. “I do not wish to stir up bad memories for you,” the Valkyrie continued as she pulled a chair over beside her for Aoife, who sat gratefully. “But since your deeds became known here I knew I could not help but to ask you about”-

        “Brunnhilde,” said Frigga warningly. In that moment, Aoife could have hugged her.

        _Perhaps later_ , she told Brunnhilde, making it so that only she and Frigga could hear her response, and trying not to snarl or snap. _Not while my daughter is here. I’m sorry, but I will not._

         Brunnhilde inclined her head slightly. She did seem to understand. “Of course. I apologize.”

        _That’s all right._

        “I should warn you, my husband will likely wish to meet with you privately for a few questions about…your victory,” Frigga remarked carefully. “After all, we fought…the same enemy for a thousand years. It would simply be prudent to ask how you…achieved this. I can be with you, if you wish,” she added kindly.

       _Thank you; I’ll think about it_.

        “Hela said you might not be up to spinning,” Frigga continued. Aoife wondered if that was a genteel way of saying that Hela had explained that her mother lacked the fine motor skills to manipulate something like a spinning wheel with anything like efficiency. “I do have a simple, small loom that is very easy to use, if you would like to try it.” Aoife nodded her assent. 

 

* * *

 

        The shuttle fit well in her hand, and the routine was simple. On a normal-spirited or high-spirited day, it would be enjoyable. Aoife had no idea what she was weaving; possibly an extremely lopsided scarf. _Thank you for inviting me,_ she told Frigga belatedly, realizing that she should.

        “Not at all. I wanted to meet you. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to speak at court upon your arrival.”

        _I’m afraid there isn’t much to me, really_. Aoife’s mind was a blank slate; what parts of herself were acceptable to introduce to her quasi-“mother-in-law”? All she could think of were the "NSFW" things, the things no normal mother ever wanted to know about her son and his lover. She wondered if or at what point she should mention the polyamory thing. Perhaps Loki was waiting to try to explain it in a way his parents might halfway understand.

        She decided to opt for the truth. _Lady Frigga, please excuse my rudeness, but I really don’t have any idea how to chat with someone right now. I don’t really have an excuse, it’s nobody’s fault…it’s just been one of those days for me._

        She tensed, but Frigga and Brunnhilde just nodded to each other. “Loki had days like that,” Frigga explained, more quietly. “I never used to know what to do for him. There seemed to be no way to prevent them. Days when the sun would not shine for him.”

        _I know. He still does, although I think it’s a little better now for him. It can get a little better depending on your circumstances,_ Aoife recalled. _I remember, once I left my preparatory school, and then became acclimated to Salem’s Lot, mine got less frequent. They weren’t cured, but that sort of thing makes a difference._

        “They say that on Midgard, there are medicines for this.”

        _There are, on Earth and where I come from, as well. Loki takes them sometimes. I don’t. I can’t really. It’s…political._

        “What do you mean by that? If it isn’t too personal.”

        _I could lose my claim to my throne if others in the realm found out I was taking them. I would be seen as mentally ill – which is technically true – and unfit to rule. I had to fight them for my throne because of the autism; I don’t know how I’d fare in another fight._

        “You have a throne?” Brunnhilde asked, looking surprised.

        _Not yet. My mother is still on it. But when she retires, I will_. Aoife paused. _Is it true that no woman has ever ruled here?_

        “It would be difficult,” Frigga explained. “A woman ruler would have to be both king and queen, which is a great deal of work, since the king and the queen each have their own duties, and the one cannot be long neglected for the other. I believe it would be very hard for her.”

        _But couldn’t the woman just perform the king’s duties, and the man perform the queen’s?_

         Brunnhilde had paused in her spinning, listening intently to the current exchange.

        Frigga looked down momentarily – she seemed embarrassed, as if Aoife had just referenced some bodily function. “No Aesir son would consent to such an arrangement. It would humiliate him.”

       _Loki would,_ Aoife thought. _We’ve talked about it once or twice, at least – what might happen after Mom retires. I will need an actual, official consort, and he did seem interested. Besides, he certainly doesn’t mind cooking and cleaning and taking care of Hel…at least, no more than Crys or I do_. But she wouldn’t tell Frigga that; given what the woman had just said, she didn’t want to give the queen a heart attack. 

        “Mama?” Their attention turned back to Hela. “Can I go play with Crys – I mean, with Mom?” the girl asked, aware that Asgardian children probably didn’t refer to their parents by their first names to avoid confusion, even if it was only once in a while. Then again, Aoife suspected darkly that having two parents of the same gender, or at least the same physical sex, was a situation that did not arise on Asgard.

        _Don’t you want to finish making your doll?_ she asked instead, noticing the still half-finished yarn doll.

        “No, I can’t do it. And it won’t even look like Grandma’s one, anyway.”

       Ordinarily, Aoife would encourage her to finish it, but she didn’t want to nag her daughter in public. _I guess so, if you’re sure. You know it’s okay if it doesn’t look exactly like that one, since it’s your first time, right?_

        “I _know_ , Mama.”

        _All right, then_. Aoife watched the girl go. Her mood plummeted even lower, and she wasn’t sure why.

        She felt a hand patting hers. It was Frigga’s. The woman smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry. Is it all right if I…”

        _Yes, it’s okay._

        “Truth be told, she reminds me of Loki.” Frigga sighed quietly; Aoife almost didn’t catch it at all. “Adorable, but…what a quiet, serious little one he always was.”

        “And so…well, _proud_ for his age,” Brunnhilde added.

       “But Thor was, too.”

       “Well, yes, but with Prince Loki, it was always different. Prince Thor just blustered in the way that all boys and men do. Bur Prince Loki…”

       _I know what you mean,_ Aoife piped up, feeling like a third wheel. _He’s sometimes like that still. He’s…afraid of not appearing…flawless._

       “I remember…” Brunnhilde leaned down toward Aoife. “When he was only a few hundred years old – just a little bigger than Hela – he wrote me a little poem.”

       Frigga laughed. “He was smitten with you, Brunnhilde. His first little infatuation. I was always surprised it struck him earlier than it happened with Thor. It was the most adorable thing I’d ever seen.”

       “I know! And I told him it was one of the sweetest things a _man_ had ever done for me.” Brunnhilde winked.

       Aoife found herself grinning. _He can be a romantic, in his way. And I guess he always was._

       “But then later Brunnhilde showed it to me, and he saw,” Frigga continued. “He was livid. He thought we were mocking him, and of course I _am_ his mother…but even so, he seemed…frightened. That anyone knew he was even capable of something like writing a poem, or feeling such things. And it’s followed him through much of his life. The things Thor could laugh or shrug off, he never could.” She smiled at Aoife. “But he seems better, from what I’ve seen since his return. You and little Hela seem to have had that effect.”

       Aoife tried again to smile, while metaphorically biting her tongue. After the cissexist nonsense Frigga had said just a few minutes ago, she knew she couldn’t tell the All-Mother that as far as she had observed, the improvements to Loki’s confidence and self-esteem were due to the leeway he’d experienced, with her and in the community back home, in exploring his sexuality and gender largely without judgment, and sometimes with open encouragement. _I wonder if I’ll always have to keep from talking about this with her, or if she’ll ever be ready to hear it?_

        “I have to admit,” Frigga continued, and now she seemed nervous. “Thor and Crysilda were not exactly…well, I probably didn’t understand, but I have to admit I’m not certain exactly…well, where exactly _did_ Hela come from?”

        _They didn’t tell her? Why the hell am I always the one who has to explain the ‘serial killer’-related things?_ Aoife thought, swallowing her annoyance.

        _Well, it’s like this_ , she replied to Frigga at last. _Back in the realm where we live, there was a person who was sort of a…local leader. He was also…a friend of mine_. She felt tears rising, unexpectedly. But Bob “Pennywise” Gray really had been her friend, or at least she thought so, and even before that, he had been Freddy’s best friend, and that alone seemed like a perfectly valid reason for Aoife to like him. _Besides, he created the Dead Zone_. 

        _Anyway, Loki and I did something…foolish. And someone was able to follow us back to this realm, and he…well, our friend was already in a weakened state from a battle with some enemies…and this person killed him. For good…otherwise, he might have healed and come back_. She took a deep breath. _And Hela was one of our friend’s offspring. His only surviving offspring, in fact. So the four of us, who found her just after her birth – well, there were five of us, but what I mean is that all four of us were there – we decided to take care of her. Younglings of our friend’s species are…powerful, but also delicate, in their way; psychologically speaking. Their minds are fragile, I mean_ , she added, in case Frigga and Brunnhilde didn’t know what “psychologically” meant. _And we drew straws for who would get to name her, and Loki won, and he liked the name ‘Hela,’ so there we were._

        Both women nodded sympathetically; Frigga patted Aoife’s hand again. “And…the scars?” asked Brunnhilde hesitantly. “Were they from her father’s death?”

       Aoife decided not to point out that technically, Bob would be the “mother” in this situation, not the father. _No, only just before. She was actually born – well, hatched, more like – more or less during the confrontation that weakened him. And the force that weakened her parent – it was the side effect of a certain ritual that his enemies had performed, which affects his species – we think it also affected her while she was developing. She’s had a few physical developmental difficulties…not like mine, thank the gods, but she did need a little physical therapy for a while._

       She was unprepared for how truly sad Frigga seemed in the Force. “And…and her race…?”

       _I don’t know much about them._ Aoife felt a pang, on top of her usual Bob-related guilt, that she hadn’t bothered to learn more about Bob’s people. _They’re…arachnoid, somewhat similar to spiders in certain ways, but they don’t usually wear that form. They can choose what they want their form to look like…Hela decided to look the way she does after she watched The Prince of Egypt, Hercules, and The Hunchback of Notre Dame. She wanted skin like Miriam and Esmeralda, but hair like Meg…Those are characters from animated films back on Earth_, she added. _I’ll explain what films are in a minute, if you’d like-_

        “It’s all right,” Frigga reassured her. “You can go on.”

         Aoife tried to pick up again where she had left off. _Well…they – her species, I mean – they were…displaced from their homeworld somehow; I’m not sure what happened. Most of them are unobtrusive, but many of them are still grieving the loss of their home – at least, as I understand it – and some of them can be violent. They also don’t seek each other’s company much. Bob – our friend – said it was because in each other, they found a reminder of the home they lost._

        Frigga was shaking her head. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “The...the poor little dear...”

        “What a terrible fate,” remarked Brunnhilde. “And an entire race...”

        Aoife nodded as fervently as she could. _I know_. _We – the four of us – we do our best. We’re all she really has._

        “Well, you seem to be doing a wonderful job,” Brunnhilde told her comfortingly.

        “Oh, yes,” Frigga agreed, looking happier, if distracted. “She is a dear.” Aoife accepted the compliment; later on, when her spirits lifted, she would take it back out and appreciate it properly. She had to admit that she felt warmer toward Frigga now (and while she didn’t have romantic feelings for Brunnhilde as Loki had, she definitely felt that the woman was admirable and someone extremely worth knowing – what the internet might call a “friend-crush”), and slightly more at ease among the Aesir.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for some sex-binarist language from Loki (he's working on it, but he was raised Asgardian, after all).

        In the past, Loki had often heard his brother jesting with Fandral, and especially (as the only married man among them) with Volstagg, about the monthly cycles of women (or rather, Loki mentally amended, of people with wombs, since Crys was living proof that the two things were not synonymous). Supposedly, when women lived together, their cycles synchronized. Loki had always privately doubted this. After all, he did not always have a cycle, living mostly in his Aesir form with its cocktail of dyadic enchantments, but when he did, it had never seemed to sync up with anyone else’s in his immediate living situation.

        But since meeting Aoife and growing accustomed to the rhythm of her moods, he sometimes wondered if, as a fellow depressive, his mood cycles and depressions had begun to sync up with hers to a certain extent. He hadn’t spoken to her yet today, obviously, as she had still been asleep when he got up that morning, but he’d developed something of a sixth sense about her mood, and he had the feeling it would be low today (the traveling and change in scenery wouldn’t help). His own spirits felt as if they were gradually on the way down, but he still felt normally functional; perhaps less happy and more melancholy, but otherwise all right.

        Earlier, he and Hela had played together, among the rocks at the edge of the Palace grounds, but he’d sensed she would rather explore the rockery on her own, so he was watching her from a distance now. The rocks were excellent for climbing, but situated outside the palace walls, almost at the edge of a ridge overlooking, on one side, the capitol, and on the other side, far below, the sea. As children, he and Thor were forbidden from playing on the rocks, which of course meant that they were forever being pulled off them.

        For some reason, he had awakened with a strange craving for _V for Vendetta_. The film, not the book. He was not proud of that; the book was in truth the better work, and anyway books were superior to films as a medium, in his personal opinion.

        But _V for Vendetta_ was the first film he and Aoife had watched together, and besides, seeing Evey captured (or so she believed) and tortured by the regime, had brought to mind his own experiences after his fall from the Bifrost – but it had dignified them, somehow. Instead of feeling used, ruined, and broken, he had seen himself, for the first time, as a survivor.

        Now, he couldn’t stop thinking of the scene afterward – of what V had told Evey as he guided her through the shock of the revelation.

        _“They put you in a cell and took everything they could take, except your life. And you believed that was all there was, didn’t you? The only thing you had left was your life.”_ Loki had been taken, years before Aoife had, down into the same pit, the same labyrinthine dungeon, where, with agonizing slowness, they had stripped him of everything but his bare existence; he truly had felt as if there was nothing to him anymore, as if he was a meaningless, soulless, worthless shell.

        But perhaps the desolation of him had begun long before that. It almost certainly had, in fact. It had begun here, on Asgard, within these very walls.

        Even these days, he still could not talk to Thor about it. Many times, he couldn’t even articulate it fully. Guilt – some earned, no doubt, but much misplaced – marred his view of the past; rendered true self-examination impossible, even as, like a fool, he kept trying.

        _“But it wasn’t, was it? You found something else…something that mattered more to you than your life.”_ And there had been something, even then. There had been Angrboda, and their children, hadn’t there? _His_ children. The ones he had carried in his body; lived with, slept with, fed, breathed for.

        _“Because when they threatened to kill you unless you gave them what they wanted, you told them you’d rather die.”_ Why had they not been enough to carry him through? Why had he not survived for their sake, why had they not kept him from bowing to his captors’ designs?

        Why had he, and Freddy, and her family, and Hela, and Crys and Thor, been enough for Aoife? Why had Loki emerged from the Dark Worlds near-broken and bloodthirsty, and Aoife clean, free, and carrying the Titan’s head in her arms?

       What was deficient in Loki? Something always had been; he had always known it, deep in his being, and so much of his life he had been consumed by fears that someone else – everyone else – would see it, and know that he was damaged goods, and abandon him. At first, he had believed it was that he was _ergi_ , and then later he attributed it to his true race and parentage. Now…he knew it was none of those things, but still he felt it there inside him.

       “My lord?”

        Loki turned toward the palace. Down on the level ground stood a young, sandy-haired maidservant, presumably the one who had called up to him. “Yes? What is it?” He tried to soften his tone; never completely secure in his own authority, he had never been inclined toward coddling servants, as Crys and even Aoife were. But he knew he ought to set an example for little Hela. _After all, perhaps Thor isn’t like Father. Perhaps she’ll be the heir someday, even if she is a girl. Besides, her species are like the Jotnar – they’re both male and female in their bodies, so perhaps that would count in her favor._

        “My lord, the Queen has invited Lady Aoife and Princess Hela down to the spinning room, and Lady Aoife requested that you send Hela down to meet her there.”

        “Very well,” said Loki’s mouth automatically. “Thank you. That will be all.”

       He looked over at Hel again, clambering nimbly over the rocks, crouching on a tall one and straightening up slowly, to admire the view of the city, like a queen surveying her realm. He often felt that he was not a good parent – he found it more difficult than Crys, Thor, and Aoife to become “playful,” to put himself on the child’s level. He found it too hard to relax, too hard not to worry after her. He was probably the least-fun parent she had. But he would do his best for her, do his best not to repeat his mistakes with Fenrir, Jormundgandr, and especially Sleipnir (even if the last was not biologically his “child,” per se – it was a being whose life he had created, and that was enough; he had always felt so and now he knew he was right).

        She deserved parents who would sacrifice anything for her, even their lives, as her birthmother had, defending her and her siblings to his last breath. Loki could only hope that if the time ever came when Hel required such a sacrifice from him, he would have the strength to give it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Posted in bits because it's a long chapter that I'm only halfway done with, but still needed to finally publish what parts I had. Features non-Marvel characters, one of which is another OC of mine.)

          Aoife was a fairly mediocre parent; she was aware of this. Sure, she’d always been good when it came to playing with Hel, cuddling her, or otherwise showering her with affection. But there were other things a parent had to do, which were equally important. Hel needed people to worry about her. She needed people to tell her no, to discipline her sometimes, and she also needed people who could take care of her without needing (as Aoife seemed to, especially since her return) a carefully written-out schedule and checklist for what to do daily (Crys was a godsend that way). Aoife knew she could be task-oriented, she was capable of it, at least when it came to things like coursework, but she also had the tendency to get stuck on one task, especially if it was proving too difficult. And her focus problems had only worsened in the year since she had come home; there had always been times when she would forget to eat or go to bed, but they had become more frequent. It was still an unnerving thing.

        Motivation had also become more of a challenge. Switching gears, from not doing something to doing it, took more effort, and the prospect of doing things – of doing anything at all, if she was honest with herself – often seemed hollow and meaningless in a way that it never had before. She could still remember, as recently as just a month or two ago, when for the first time since finally learning to walk, she hadn’t wanted to continue with her daily exercises. The prospect of being able to fight and exact violence was tempting, but the thought was simply not enough to propel her out of bed. For almost a week now, she had switched off the alarm and burrowed back under the three blankets she now found herself needing at minimum to fall asleep, even in summer.

         She’d jerked awake to Hel tapping her shoulder. “Mommy? Are you sick?”

        _No, Hel,_ she’d reassured as soon as she found her speech again. _I’m okay. It’s okay._

        “Why don’t you do PT anymore?”

        _I’m just tired, Nip. That’s all._

         She saw Hel glance down at her own left arm, which hung slightly akimbo from her side, with its semi-shrunken look and angry varicose-vein-like scars. “Why do I have to if you don’t?”

          _Because grown-ups can do whatever we want._ Not at all the best answer, but Aoife couldn’t think of a better one.

         “I’m not going to if you don’t.”

        _Hel, that’s not fair._

        “ _Please,_ Mommy.” Aoife looked up at her daughter and her stomach filled with lead. The girl looked on the brink of tears. “What if the man comes back and he tries to make you or Daddy Loki go with him again?”

         _Come here, Hel_. Aoife settled the girl against her, on top of the blankets, tucked into the crook of her body. _He won’t come back, Nipster_. She hesitated, but maybe the girl needed to hear this, to put her mind at ease a little. _I killed him, Nip. I cut off his head. Daddy Loki has it. If you tell him I said it was okay, then I bet he’ll show it to you sometime. The man who took me is dead. He’s gone. Daddy Loki isn’t going to leave you, and neither am I. None of us will ever leave you again._

         Hel sounded comforted, but not satisfied. “Please, Mommy? If you don’t do PT, then I’ll be the only one.”

         That had done it, in the end. Because how many times had Aoife felt like a freak, herded out of class every day to the special room with the mats and the soft throwing balls, the only person she’d ever met who needed to go – let alone the only Sith? And that was to say nothing of the pain.

        They did their physical therapy exercises together after that, and Aoife had to admit, that made the damn things moderately better. It was, she supposed now, probably thanks to her daughter that she’d be able to dance tonight at the feast, if dancing was a practice on Asgard, and that was a good thing.

        There were more times like that than she would have liked, though. It had started when Aoife first got back. At the time, she had lost even her telepathy, nonverbal except for some occasional typing or signing. She hadn’t wanted to do anything except sleep, because waking meant a return to her body and the horribly unpredictable world clogged up with pitying faces. And yet sleep was difficult, with the threat of nightmares that even Freddy could not completely save her from.

         Hela had had adapted to her mother’s silence remarkably well. Maybe the girl’s own verbal speech delays, due to the safety precaution of a slinged-up jaw that they’d been forced to resort to when she was a baby to keep her from biting and Changing people, had actually helped there. When she learned how, she would read to Aoife from her picture books. Even before she learned to read, though, Hela knew perhaps instinctively to cuddle up with Aoife, to curl herself against her stomach, so that the two of them could take their naps together. The memory of it was bittersweet and frightening to Aoife – how desperately, at times, she’d silently prayed for the little girl to come and lie beside her, how often it had been the best thing – the only thing, really – for finally falling asleep.

         Eventually, Aoife got better at falling asleep alone in her room, though she would always be comforted by the sounds from downstairs: Hel wrestling with Thor on the rug in the den, or helping Loki (or Annie, when she visited) cook dinner, or singing along with Crys while she played her guitar or the piano in the corner of the living room. She’d always slept better when she could hear other people. Her mother and Captain Kanos talking down the hall from her room at the lodge; stormtroopers or Red Guards shooting the breeze as they stood guard outside her door at the capital; Freddy watching TV, fixing something, or working on his glove out beyond the Quiet Room. It felt good to be reminded she wasn’t alone.

        But it was those times, after Aoife’s return, that she’d become aware gradually of just how much she depended on her daughter; much more, she thought, than any parent should. Children were the ones who needed to be dependent, after all. Those were the times when Hel seemed to take on too much for someone so young, and times that showed Aoife just how much her daughter worried and feared. Times that reminded her of her own innumerable failures as a mother. _Thank the gods she has all four of us_ , _at least_.

 

* * *

 

          Aoife opened and activated the communication screen with some trepidation; the thing ran on the energy of a spell Loki had placed on it, which was fortunate since Asgard didn’t appear to have any usable power outlets, but there was no guarantee that it would connect between here and Earth, especially over not just geographical distance, but also from another dimension.

         She grinned and flapped as Zayt’s face materialized onscreen. _Can you hear me, Zayt?_

         The young person nodded – _they’ve learned how to use some gestures; that’s interesting_ – and typed into the keyboard on their end: ‘I hear you. When do you return?’

         _Just a few more days._ _It won’t be much longer. Why, are you all right? Is Freddy remembering to get food and everything?_

         ‘Affirmative. Pizza is good.’

         _Yes, it is. Tell him to heat up some of the things I left, too. How are your…dream-traveling lessons going? Or whatever it’s called?_

          ‘I am very talented.’ Zayt smiled craftily. ‘I am supreme!’ Their hands flapped excitedly, proud of their joke.

          Aoife couldn’t help but grin even wider. _I bet you are. Will you show me when I get back?_

         ‘Affirmative. How is Hela?’

         Aoife remembered how Zayt stayed close to Hel whenever they were up at the house. Perhaps it wasn’t too surprising – Hela wasn’t technically human, either. _Hela’s well. She’s with Crys and Thor now. The next time I call, you can talk to her, if you want to._

        ‘Affirmative. Will you speak to Freddy?’

        _Oh, is he there?_

         ‘He has returned.’

         _Then yes, I’d like to. I’ll talk to you again soon, all right?_

         ‘Affirmative.’ Zayt stood, rather stiffly and shakily, like someone still not used to limbs, and moved offscreen.

         After a few minutes, Aoife watched Freddy appear in front of the screen. “Okay. How do I work this thing?”

         _You just talk. Everything is already set up. Besides, you just cracked a planetary supercomputer a few months ago, I bet you can handle this. It’s basically just a webcam._

         “Yeah, I’ve been around some computers since then. I’m pretty sure that was a one-time thing.” He shifted. “So…things there are, you know, okay?”

          _Yes, everyone is fine. Crys seems happy_. Aoife’s mind returned briefly to the wedding dress in Crys’ hope chest, but that didn’t have to mean much, and Freddy might overreact to it. If Crys wanted people to know, she’d tell them. _Hela seems kind of…down, but that’s not too unexpected given the big change in scenery._

         “Is this Odin guy as much of an asshole as he seems like?”

          _I don’t know,_ Aoife said diplomatically, in case one of the servants heard. _We haven’t spoken._

          “He hasn’t even talked to you yet? Wasn’t…” he paused, just for a few seconds, as if searching for the name – or considering whether or not to say it. “That piece of shit you killed…wasn’t he some old enemy of these people’s or something?”

          _I mean, yes, I think so, but…_

          “And you took care of him for them and this guy doesn’t even want to talk to you?”

           _He’s been busy. Kings have a lot to do. He’ll probably get around to it._

          “Whatever.”

          Aoife took a minute to recover from the subject matter. _So…Crys is out with Thor, but the next time I call, I’ll get her and you can talk to her._

          “Yeah, you should call again soon. Zayt misses you. A lot.”

          Aoife grinned. _And do you miss me, Freddy?_ she joked.

          “Oh, no, not one bit. It’s been great, having you out of my hair.”

          _I bet it has. You know, this is basically a webcam._

          “So?”

         _We could have Skype sex._

          “Yeah, _no_.”

          Aoife had to laugh at how fast the answer came. _I’ll call you again soon. Remember to feed Zayt things other than pizza and Lonely takeout._

          “I _know_ that.” He looked down at the console. “Which button do I push?”

          _The red one at the top right there._

          “Got it.” The screen went dark. Aoife sat back on her bed, suddenly feeling fatigued, and as if something had deflated in her chest. She knew she had to start getting ready for the banquet that was apparently happening tonight, and she had to make sure Hela was clean and dressed and ready for it, but for now she had no energy to do anything. _Maybe it was talking about him. That always feels bad. And maybe I just want to go home_. She hoped her spirits would improve before dinner.

 

* * *

 

 

         “Don’t touch it so much,” Crys warned Aoife, as she oiled and gelled her hair up for her in preparation for the evening. Aoife still wasn’t fully used to having short hair – her Nabooan bias toward long, elaborately-styled hair had really been rearing its head since her return – and she still couldn’t wait for it to grow back, but that didn’t mean she had to give up on it in the meantime. Besides, like her scars and the missing finger on her right hand, her short hair was one more sign of what she’d survived; how strong she was.

         She’d never known how to style short hair, but Crys did, even if hers was a different texture than Aoife’s, so Aoife had taken her up on the offer, and now her hair was combed up and over itself in a kind of flip. Crys’ own hair had gotten a bit longer, but not long enough to gather or pin back, so there wasn’t much for the genderqueer to do except wash and comb it neatly, before adding one of her Asgardian gold circlets over it.

         Aoife returned to her own bedroom now, willing herself not to touch her hair, and jumped slightly to find Loki there. _Hi, Loki. I didn't get to ask, did you have a nice morning with Hel? You look good_ , she added, because he did. His long black hair was freshly washed – _and did he borrow some of Thor’s conditioner?_ – and combed down his back, some of it separated into many skinny, ribbon-like braids on top of it. He also wore a pair of small emerald earrings Aoife could still remember giving him. _Oh, and I don’t know if I told you_ , she continued, going to the box of jewelry she’d brought to look for her earrings for the evening. _But I brought a gown for you, along with mine. Just in case._

         In her mirror, she saw Loki smile, but thinly. “No thank you, Aoife; I told myself I’d spend this trip passing for a man. For my mother’s sake, if nothing else.” He gestured at his hair and jewelry, as well as the faint touches of makeup Aoife was now picking up on. “I realize I have a rather odd way of showing it, but…” he shrugged helplessly.

         _That’s all right. Whatever makes you most comfortable._ Aoife didn’t know what else to say. _Would you help fasten me into my gown?_

         “Of course.” He guided her into the voluminous red skirt, before pulling it up around her, threading her wrists and arms through the sheer sleeves. Aoife tried not to shiver where his long fingers brushed her, and even if she hadn’t been able to see Loki’s grin in the mirror, she would still have been able to feel it. “I live to serve my _Master_ ,” he purred next to her ear, and Aoife felt her face get hot as she smiled.

         _Shhh,_ she told him. _Hel could hear you._

         “Oh no, she is with Mother and some of the other women now,” Loki explained. “Helping prepare the Hall, I expect. And I already got her washed and ready for tonight, before you ask. Although I suggest we put her to bed after the first hour or so of the feasting. These affairs run late, and Thor and I were never allowed to sit up for them when we were her age.”

         _Good idea_. Deciding it was probably needed, Aoife caught his chin when he was finished with the elaborate fastenings that closed her gown in the back. _You really do look beautiful tonight, Loki._

         His eyes fluttered shut as Aoife let her own, admittedly more stubby, fingers trace the marble-smooth skin of his chin and angular features. _I’m sorry. I don’t know if I’m smearing your makeup._

         “You aren’t, Master,” he murmured. At first, Aoife wondered why he was using the honorific; usually, it only came into play during a scene, or when he was flirting with or teasing her. _But you know what it’s like to be comforted by returning to that role; how protected you can feel when there’s someone else taking care of you, and telling you what to do._

_He must be anxious about tonight._

         _It’s all right,_ she told him. _We’ll be together all night, and we won’t stay too long._

         “I _know_ , Master,” he assured her, looking faintly affronted, so Aoife didn’t bring it up again.

 


End file.
